


Circumstantial Compassion

by oprovau



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-07-25 17:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7541680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oprovau/pseuds/oprovau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, a bitter young woman is put in charge of two young children. As if surviving, killing the undead, and raising the kids was not enough, the universe just can't seem to give her a fucking break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Days Gone Bye

I can't breathe. A haze lingers around my sight and mixes with the fog around me. Someone, maybe my brother, has just shot off their gun. Dumbass. I can hear the dead ones rising from their slumber with moans and whispers of hunger. I can feel that something isn't right, that something is out of place but I'm preoccupied with my parents, who are huddled together across the street. My dad bleeds from a nasty gash in his neck and my mother is limping away from him and the rest of us. Her gray figure melts away as the walkers close in on Mack and I. I can't seem to move an inch. We stand frozen in time, him waving his gun like a child and myself covered in weapons that I can't seem to grasp for. We stand completely still until walkers surround me, but Mack is nowhere in sight. I call out, but my cries are not heard. I fall onto a growing pile of fallen walkers and stare upward as the clouds disappear, only to be replaced by those things. My mouth is watering, no, bleeding. I can feel my teeth grinding and every muscle is being pulled from beneath my skin outward. I think I'm dying. I must be dying. I blink, and find a gun's barrel between my eyes. Mack smiles. I scream.

 

 

Marnie shakes me awake, her small, grime-covered hands grasp my shoulders and rock them forwards and backwards. "Addy, you're going to draw walkers." Her voice is hushed but urgent, a strange maturity for a nine-year-old.

"I'm so sorry, honey. Can you get me some water?" My throat is dry and my cheeks rough, like I had been crying. I must have been crying and I mentally scold myself for doing so infront of the kids. They can only be strong if I am strong. I silently thank the Lord that she woke me up before I could draw in those monsters. 

As I come to my senses, the first thing I smell is the death on her shoulders. Her little head bobs up and down as she retreats to the kitchen table. Her younger brother, Cory is sitting vigil in front of the barricaded door, ready to wake me up the moment he sees or hears walkers. Or people, for that matter. I guess I feel bad about letting the children take watch while I sleep, but to keep them alive, I have to take some risks, right? I need to be awake and alert while we are out and about on runs.

Cory passes half a bag of potato chips to his sister before nestling into his blanket. After removing a few chips, Marnie hands me the bag and a bottle of water. I thank her, and she goes to dig around upstairs. 

Marnie seems to find use in everything, so it is not uncommon for her to rifle through other people's belongings. Personally, it all makes me uncomfortable. I can't imagine a stranger digging through my bedroom, eating my food, or wearing my clothes, but I think that's what this world is: doing things that you need to do to survive.

Though the house lacks a real front door, it has a functioning screen in front of it; it's sure to last us the night at least, but no longer. The home is two stories tall, a pristine off-yellow color, complete with garden gnomes and a classic white picket fence.

Cory likes to make up stories about the people that used to live in the houses we stay in. For this one, he has decided that they were middle class, but acted rich, had three dogs, big brown ones, and had big family dinners every week. He's sure that they were a good family; he said they were a good family like us.

I don't know anything about helping children through the mourning process. I have attempted to find books or notes or anything about it, but it's not like we have time to shop around for a shrink's office. Sometimes the kids cry at night, and even if we're a 'family', I could never be their real mother. You don't just  _become_ that overnight. I think about how I found them-- ragged and grimy and disgusting. While they're still pretty much that, they believe that they have found a good caretaker, and I won't destroy their dreams of a normal, functioning family.

"Addy!" the squeak of Cory's yelp invades my ears, pulling me from my thoughts. I jump up, bottle of water clattering to the floor. Marnie's footfalls ring out as she runs down the staircase.

At the door, Cory points out a man and a child, the man might be a walker, especially since he is clothed in a pale blue hospital gown. The child whacks the man over the head with a shovel. He yells out for his father, and shortly after, there's a gunshot. Cory embeds his head into my chest. My hands quickly find the little boy's light chestnut hair and begin to smooth it down, soothingly.

The quarrel outside our barricaded door continues, including the boy's father talking down to the collapsed man. The standing man cocks his gun at the man on the grass, while the son stands back a bit, scanning the area for potential threats.

He meets my eyes through the screen door.

I know that it was a mistake to look on to the interaction, but I needed to make sure there were not any threats looming in front of us. I lightly push Cory out of the boy's vision and lift the dark rifle from it's station by the door. I raise it in front of my chest, hoping I seem menacing.

I wouldn't even know how to get a bullet out of there. I'm probably not even holding it right.

I don't look behind me, but Marnie sucks in a breath grom the kitchen. I stare at the three males. The kid calls for his father. It must have only taken three strides for the man to cross one yard over. Only a chair stacked on a loveseat protected us from potential death.

"Is this man with you?!" His voice is booming, sweat is dripping down his dark face.

Despite being nearly six feet and stocky, I've never considered myself strong by any means. I would be a dumbass to think I could overpower a madman. I shake my head, "No, I just saw him I-"

"Are you telling me the truth?" He's right in front of the screen, his face is nearly pressed against it. From the urgent, but quiet tone in his voice, I can tell he's trying not to wake every walker in the neighborhood.

"Yes, I didn't see him until that boy yelled, promise." My voice is shaking. My weapon is raised, but my grip is loose and unknowing. I say a little prayer.

He seems to believe me. "It just you in there?"

I decide to tell the truth, leading with the kids. People will almost always bend backwards for adolescents, and I am willing to use that tactic to stay alive. I've nothing but my words. "Two children and I. Just us, on our own."

His face softens. "This place won't hold up through the night, not without a door. I suggest finding a better place before it's dark." He nods in solidarity and begins to turn.

"Is there a better place near here?" I say.

"If you need help moving, I'm a street over, exactly." His right, glove-covered hand motions up the street.

His son interjects. "We've got food if you need it, and enough space that you could stay the night." He steps over the (dead?) man's fallen body with words directed to me.

Looking to the teen, my hands raise; my arm catches in the strap of the rifle on accident. The weapon whacks into the screen door. A small crack appears. "Really, we're fine." They seem nice, but stranger danger and all. I'm not going to put Cory and Marnie into needless trouble.

The older man looks at his son, scolding. "If you don't trust us that's understandable, but I need to move that man and could use help. Afterwards, you can hole up next door."

"Why you gotta move him?" It's Cory, head peaking around my waist.

The man almost laughs, makes a gurgling chortle behind closed lips. "Well, he's alive, son. We don't want to leave people for the walkers if we don't have to."

Cory's big, bright eyes shine up at me. Puppy dog eyes, the ones I have always tended to break for. "He doesn't have to leave _us_ for the walkers, Addy."

"We're fine---"

Marnie, from the kitchen, speaks out. "Addy we should go. Really."

"We're fine here, sir. It's kind of you t--" I look at the man, trying to continue.

"Addy, stop!" Marnie's voice raises; I bite the inside of my cheek. "Addy, you can't even shoot a gun. We don't have weapons, don't be stubborn, let him help us."

I sigh, letting the rifle fall to my side.

That was it. I let the two children pack up their belongings and all of the food left in the kitchen. I pick up the gun and take a ratty sweater from the coat closet. Marnie hands me my school backpack, which still holds some supplies from school, along with toothbrushes, paste, and underwear. We don't need anything else from the house.

The man's son takes my bag and rifle, along with his father's gun. On the count of three, the father and I lift the fallen man, and he is much heavier than he seems.

The kids all chitter and chatter away in front of us, while the man's son leads us several houses up and around the block, then several houses down again. We begin to walk as the father introduces himself, "'m Morgan, and that's my son, Duane. It's just us." He appears softer now than he first came off as.

I groan involuntarily from the weight between our hands. "The girl is Marnie, boy is Cory. I'm Addison, er, Addy, I guess." I feel strange giving him my name, to even start a conversation with someone so random. "Been that way for just over a week."

He nods as we turn the corner. "So no relation?" I can tell that the man's limp body is getting a bit heavy for him as well.

"None. Found them outside of that park, the one with the big, yellow swing set?" He nods. "Yeah, well they were crying on top of that slide, a few walkers were nearby. Dunno how I killed them, but I did, and got the kids to come down. Parents had gotten bit."

"Yeah, I was a little surprised you were all still alive with that gun swinging around." We share a laugh. It is weird to laugh nowadays.

In silence, highlighted by the occasional giggle of a child, we make it to Morgan's house ten minutes later.

They had locked the front door. Duane dips down to a flowerpot on the porch, his hand comes up with a small brass key.

"Just a little farther," Morgan tells me. We pull the stranger through the open door; the children scurry in after us. Duane locks the door and begins piling furniture and wood planks in front of it. "Go to the back room, there's a bed."

We bring him to the bedroom and, with ease, Morgan ties the man's hands up on the headboard.

I've never carried anything so heavy in my life. Now, I have remnants of muscle from playing tennis for several years, but those don't really count as  _I'm just going to drag this grown man around for half a mile_  muscles. I slump down into a rocking chair, gazing at the man, a stranger to all of us, for a moment.

"Have you eaten?" Morgan calls from the living room.

"Define 'eaten'." I say, rising from the chair and meeting the kids in the living room. They play with Legos and Jenga blocks. Good for them. I smile, finally, "No, not really. We've had chips, granola, and water for the past few days. They're getting weary... I just don't think they know it yet." I give a soft laugh, but it's not like it's funny. I kind of feel bad.

Morgan explains. "I think we've got it pretty good here. It's okay for now, but we'll be moving on eventually." I nod at his words. "We have corn and beans and, uh, I guess, some peaches that I would be willing to part with. You can save them or eat them for dinner."

I nod once more; I get it, food is getting sparse these days-- he's not going to give away more than he can part with. "It's too much really. All of your help, I mean." I despise help of any kind; it's genetic, I think. When my dad lost his job, he uprooted the lives of the entire family, just to prove that he could do anything all by himself. If it had only been me in that house, I, like my father, I assume, would have rather starved to death than eaten another man's canned peaches.

"I'll set it all out with our meal, then." I thank him with a small, half-smile, and he exists the kitchen, feet giving a light patter. After scanning the kitchen, and taking in the room, with nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs, I go to sit in the living room with all of the children.

Duane says that he's eleven, and Marnie says she's nine. He says cool, she smiles. It's kind of cute, but I know that it'll suck for everyone when we leave tomorrow. Cory is only five and Marnie loves him, but they have nothing in common but their dead parents. Marnie quickly finds a friend in Duane, but we'll be gone at first light. I'm actually talking to an adult, which is a refresher from the usual squeaky kids, but tomorrow... damn.

I don't know how much time has passed-- the windows and doors are hidden behind wooden planks and the clock in the living room is stuck in one spot-- but eventually I hear two voices coming from the back room. It's Morgan and the tired voice of the stranger.

I stand and walk over to the room, trying to look menacing and probably failing. I'm holding a stolen steak knife for good measure.

He's questioning the man about his wound. Morgan had cleaned and rebandaged the infected area, but was unsure of the type of injury. The pale man was delirious and sickly and terribly confused.

Morgan looks up at me in the doorway. "Fever would've killed you by now," He looks back at the man, the man says he is pretty sure there is no fever. Morgan threatens him with his gun.

The bedridden man, his eyes still glassy from sleep and scare, is released from his binds by Morgan, and sighs. Welts and red marks temporarily scar his wrists.

"What's your name?" I ask him, sounding colder than meant.

"'s Rick. Grimes." He replies.

I nod ask Morgan exits. "Come on out when you're ready," I say, "Food'll be out in a few." I leave him to himself, hoping that he won't try anything.

Hoping and assuming are two things I should probably throw out of the figurative window.

I round up the kids and have them sit around the table. Duane, a boy I've only known for hours, says, "Yes, ma'am, thank you, ma'am." The two siblings that I've saved from death nearly knock me over on the way to the dining table.

The hospital-gowned man, Rick, walks out of the back room a few minutes later, just as Morgan and I are setting out plates. Rick ignores us for the most part, and begins walking around the living room.

"This place-- Fred and Cindy Drake's?" He looks to Morgan, who replies that he has never met them, that it might have been their place, but it belongs to no one anymore; that it was barren when Duane and himself arrived.

Rick goes to open a window, but Marnie, standing from her seat at the table, yells sharply for him to shut it.

"They'll see the light." I explain. "We really don't want that."

"There are more out there than usual," says Morgan, retreating to his seat at the table, "I never should've fired that gun today. Sound draws them, now they're all over the street." He takes his place, Duane on one side, Rick is still standing. "Stupid-- using a gun." I slide in next to where Rick stands, and Marnie and Cory squeeze in between Duane and I. "It all happened so fast. I didn't think."

"Don't think anything of it, Morgan," I say, reaching for a spoon, "you helped us all today." I pause with a thankful smile. "I don't want to think about what would've happened if you hadn't."

Rick looks at me, incredulous, "He shot that man today."

"Man?" Morgan looks at the stranger inquisitively, like the man should know; he should know.

Cory shakes his head, "Uh-uh"

Duane speaks up, "It weren't no man."

Morgan whips around to his son, "What the hell what that out of your mouth just now?" His words elicit a giggle from the two siblings. I let a half-grin slip.

"It wasn't a man." Duane looks at Rick.

Rick approaches the table quickly, convinced that he had witnessed a murder in broad daylight. "You shot him in the street out front-- a man."

Morgan responds, "Friend, you need glasses."

"It was a walker." explains Marnie.

"Sit down," I say, motioning to the remaining chair, to the left of me. "You need to eat."

"Daddy," Duane speaks, grabbing his father's attention, "blessing."

Morgan looks around the table, I nod, "Yeah." he says.

"But we don't blessing at home, Addy." Cory looks at me, doe eyes confused.

I smile, taking his small hand into mine, "It's okay, just go along with it."

I place my hand out to the stranger beside me. He just stares at like he has never seen a hand; I reach out a little more and his large hand grabs hold. His eyes narrow in concentration. He still just seems confused about everything.

Morgan prays, "Lord, we thank thee for this food, thy blessings. And we ask you to watch over us in these crazy days. Amen."

A chorus of "Amen" goes around the table. Cory catches on.

"You can eat now, Cory." I explain. Cory's brightened features add a little bit of happiness to the gloomy dinner table.

"Hey, Mister, you even know what's going on?" Marnie speaks out after a swallow of canned corn.

Beside me, the man's bright eyes waver. He looks between Morgan and I. "I woke up today in the hospital, came home, and that's all I know."

"But you know about the walkers, right?" Cory glances up from his place, staring at the older man.

"The dead people." Morgan explains.

Rick nods his head, "Yeah, I saw a lot of that-- out on the loading dock, piled in trucks."

"Uh, uh, uh," I say, head hung. I remember the day when they announced that all hospitals would be swept for victims of the virus. Military troops and commanders were sent to take the patients with obvious symptoms to a quarantined area in Mississippi. It wasn't until the deed was done that the public learned of the hundreds of mass shootings that had occurred in hospitals across the state. I used to think that military and police were all about 'protect and serve'. Serving is one thing, but they weren't protecting anybody by killing cancerous old ladies and newly-made mothers. "No, those are the ones they murdered."

"I mean the ones they didn't put down-- the walkers. Like the one I shot today," says Morgan, "'Cause he'd have ripped into you, tried to eat you, taken some flesh at least."

Rick's eyes go cloudy, head shaking.

"If this is the first you're hearing it, I must sound crazy, I know." I say, giving a tight lipped nod of understanding.

"They're out there on the street? Right now?" Rick asks.

"They get more active after dark sometimes. Maybe it's the cool air or-- hell, maybe it's just me firing that gun today. But we'll fine if we keep quiet tonight. Probably wander off by morning." Morgan confirms and continues, "But listen," he leans into the other man, "don't you get bit. I saw your bandage and that's what we were afraid of."

Most of us nod. I say, "Bites kill you."

Morgan explains, "They kill you and the fever burns you out. But then after a while, you come back."

"Seen it happen." Duane says, and Rick nods in understanding, or some kind of respect. Morgan places a hand on his son's shoulder, and there is a moment of father-son telepathy; they both nod, and everyone continues their meals in peace. It leaves the table calm and silent. The lack of food cuts the meal shorter than the average.

We set up shop in the living room afterwards. Rick and I lift the mattress from the back room and place it in the living room for Cory and Marnie. I arrange borrowed blankets around the siblings, and sit up at the edge of the mattress, looking to the two men.

"Carl-- he your son?" he asks Rick. "Well-- you said his name today." Probably before being hit with a shovel.

Rick nods, "He's about the age of the girl," he looks to me, "your sister?" My dirty brown hair and blue eyes contrasted with the long chocolate brown curls and dark eyes of Marnie. Cory could believably be a relative of mine, however Marnie was much darker than him as well.

"Friend." I say, rubbing my ankles and rearranging the itchy blankets around the siblings. "Your boy is with family?"

"I hope so."

Duane flutters awake from his sleep, and whispers to his father. "Did you ask him?"

"Ask me what?" Rick leans in with an inquisitive half-smile.

Morgan chuckles, "Your gunshot-- we've got a little bet going. My son says you're a bank robber."

Rick straightens up against his couch, a small laugh leaving him. "Yeah, that's me-- The Deadliest Dillinger. Kapow!"

Morgan and I chuckle at the faux gun noise; at least this stranger has a sense of humor. "Sheriff's deputy."

Morgan nods. We sit in silence for a moment, before something, most likely a walker, hits a car, setting off an obnoxious alarm.

Duane rushes to sit up, frightened. Cory is the same, a tear rolling down his china cheeks. He grabs onto me with incredible strength for such a small kid. "Shh, baby, it's okay." I rock him in my arms with Marnie curled behind me. She tries to remain stoic, but her ears are pressed between my hip and her rolled up blanket. Morgan is consoling Duane while explaining it to Rick.

"It's happened before, goes on for a few minutes." Morgan explains and has Duane turn out the lights. Marnie twists off our lantern before returning to her position behind me. The two men and Duane go up to boarded windows, and look at the walkers and the cars.

"She's here." Duane gasps, running to his bed and sobbing. I look over worried, meeting Rick's eyes. He stares back out of the window, then through the peep hole.

"Rick, get away from there." I whisper.

Duane continues a quiet sob into a pillow. Morgan explains the horrible story of his wife's tragic death; how she became a walker.

I have never lost anyone important to me. I don't know what happened to my family, but there is at least some hope there. Now, I saw tons of those people at the hospital get killed, cellphone videos had been leaked all over Twitter and YouTube, but no one has every left directly from my grasp. Morgan's story leaves me somewhat teary-eyed; he'll always know that he didn't put his wife down-- he'll live with that.

I don't think I could.  
 

* * *

The next morning, my party sleeps in while Duane, Morgan, and Rick go outside. Morgan demonstrates the basics of killing a walker. I'm not very  _good_ at it all, yet, but I'm confident enough that I know the basics. Undead mongoloid equals stab, stab, kill, kill, easy enough. I welcome the few extra hours of sleep.

 

 

After they visit Rick's house, they come and wake up the three of us. We grab our belongings quickly, assuming that we won't be coming back here. Rick discusses what his plan is after he leaves King's County.

"I'm going to find my son. My wife, my family. They're what matters now."

"Family is everything." Morgan agrees.

I nod, thinking only of my family, and how they could be flourishing on their farm, or rotting away in the streets. The not knowing is slowly messing with mind, I think. My younger brothers had taken off the week before spring break, with rumors of crazy virus capturing the impressionable minds of the interwebs, they just wanted to be sure that they weren't, jokingly, going to be eaten up by zombies. The countryside was safer than our little town outside of Atlanta. My mother went along, and my dad followed just days before the world started collapsing. As a senior in high school, I was dumb enough to think that sticking around in a time of panic would make me look better intellectually. After the power began shutting down, my car was stolen and I quickly ended up with the kids. I never made the drive out.

"Are you heading anywhere specific?" Rick's smooth accent draws me from my thoughts. His blue eyes pierce my cheek, and I figure that he is speaking to  _me_.

 

 

"Oh, I would one hundred percent help you look for Carl and your wife, if not for these twerps." I motion my thumb back at the siblings. I hear Cory and Marnie giggle over my shoulder.

"I'm going to look for the Center for Disease Control, eventually. If it's safe, you'll want those kids there, I'm telling you."

I don't want to put the kids into unnecessary danger. "It'll be a risk. Especially if it's _eventually_ , and not right away."

His hand finds my shoulder. "Think it over, okay?" I nod, albeit a bit reluctant. We keep walking and talking, and his hand remains as we get to know each other.

Since Rick was, or _is_ , I guess, a deputy, he has the keys to the sheriff's station. Inside lie showers. Hot water showers. The three men go in first, swearing that they will leave us some hot water.

"It's water, hot or not. Thank you." I tell Rick, sitting down outside of the showers. He says that it is not a problem, that it is his job to do what he can for us.

The men laugh and whoop and holler and the hot water drizzles down. Marnie is sick of waiting after just two minutes, but their excitement is something uncommon nowadays. I'll always be glad to hear someone laugh.

The three men stay for just under ten minutes, including getting dressed, then let Cory, Marnie, and I go in and do our business. Despite the strong, cologne smelling shampoo left in the showers, I am just happy to be clean. I turn around away from the siblings, assuming that they both know how to clean themselves, and focus on getting my hair and body as clean as possible-- who knows how long it will be before my next shower.

I turn my water off after about five minutes, straining out my hair with a towel before wiping off my arms, chest, and legs. My clothes are laid out, same, dirty things as before, but with clean underwear.

Marnie is already dressed, hair in a messy ponytail. She is skimming through a fresh copy of  _Jane Eyre_ while making periodic checks on her brother-- making sure that all of the soap is gone, all of the dirt is off, etc. She's like a little mother to him, and I can not help but assume that her _own_ mother would be proud of the steps she's taking to care for her younger brother. I not comfortable enough to go checking up like that on a kid I'm not related to.

A few minutes after this, Cory is dressed and we head out of the showers where the three men wait for us. Rick is holding to two guns, and I'm surprised when he hands them to me.

"Really?" I say. Cory smiles when he sees the weapons, so used to the cultural ideas of guns as toys. His sister frowns down at him. Rick nods.

I follow Rick's lead out of the station, my eyes adjust to the extreme daylight slowly, leaving blurs in my vision.

Rick explains to all of us how important ammunition conservation is. "Every bullet counts." I know.

Rick reaches over to Morgan, asking him why he won't come along. They continue to say farewell, but Marnie tugs on my sleeve.

Marnie asks me if we are going with Rick. I ask her what  _she_  thinks we should do. "Rick. We should definitely go with Rick." Her voice is frail, but mature.

I take her words to heart.

When Rick looks at me expectantly, I know exactly what answer to give. "We'll be going with you. Help you find your wife." The smile on his face is genuinely happy.

He runs to the other side of the car, pulls out a radio, and hands it to Morgan. Every morning at dawn, both of them will turn on the radio for a few minutes, in order to contact one another. Rick shows me how to do it, just in case we get separated.

"Thank you, Morgan." I say, hand out for shaking.

Morgan's features widen into a grin. He takes my hand between both of his. "Thank _you_ , Addy. For letting us be hospitable again."

I nod, wave at Duane, and get into the cop car. The siblings, after saying goodbye to Duane, slid into the backseat.  
  
Rick shoots a walker, then hops into the car, not waiting for anymore walkers to follow.  
 

* * *

  
We stop twice, once for Rick to kill a walker in the park (Someone he knew? He does not explain.), and then once for Cory to use the restroom. All the while, Rick is using the C.B. radio, trying to contact other survivors. No one is answering, and there is a tad of urgency in his voice, but he tries to make civil conversation.  
  
"How'd you come to be 'friends' with those kids?" The man asks.  
  
"Found 'em one day. No family, all by their lonesome. I guess I was the same." I nod along with my explanation-- I don't love mentioning my family, even a glimmer. Makes me sad.  
  
"It's good that you've found them. Kids need parents in times like this."  
  
"I agree." I would  _love_ a mother figure in a time like this. "Hope my family is somewhere good."

"In a heavenly way? Or a survival way?"

I shrug. "Both, I guess. They're supposed to be on my step-mother's fanily farm, but who knows, right?"

"It's good to keep hopes high." He drives purposely around a walker.

"A'course it is. Only way you'll find your own family, right." I speak ruefully, more so than the joking manner that I intended. I follow up: "Hope is good."  
  
An hour later, the engine begins to sputter. Rick swears under his breath.  
  
Cory's worried little voice appears first, anxious and frightened. "Are we stuck here, now?"  
  
"Rick, what are we going to do?" I ask; there is nothing but rotting old farm homes around the area. I am doubtful that they are occupied with anything of great use.  
  
"Stick tight out here." Rick tells me. We do. The three of us and my guns stay in the driveway of a home while Rick investigates. He draws back, clearly disgusted at what is inside. His head is in his hands, nose pinched, either crying at the scene or grimacing at the smell. We exit the cop car to stretch our legs and look for a lead. Searching the area, Cory draws attention to an old truck. Rick rushes over. Marnie running, while Cory and I walk. It only takes him a couple of seconds to find the keys in the cup holder.  
  
Rick and Marnie sit in the front seat with Cory and I in the trunk with the bag of guns. Cory is thrilled to be riding so dangerously-- no seat belts, sitting next to weaponry! I am ready to throw up or jump out of the trunk immediately.  
  
Cory eventually falls asleep in my lap, Marnie seems to have conked out next to Rick. The silence during the trip is not  _creepy_ , but _is_ disquieting. It is kind of strange. There are no other cars, no motorcycles, there are no jet planes in the air. It's all just a  _strange_ emptiness.  
  
We exit the car after driving for a few minutes. We are in the city, but things are so quiet that something must be waiting somewhere. We cross bridges, go through shopping centers. The whole time we are poised with our weapons out and ready. We are prepared to strike anything that wants to strike us.  
  
Everything is completely still, save the newspapers, garbage, and blood that litter the streets. It's like the universe picked us up and set us down in a photograph of the city. We keep the children tight to us, still fearful.  
  
The farther we get into the city, the more walkers appear. The number is not horrible, and we pass them easily; we rarely even have to kill them, they are so far away. Vultures and crows squawk horribly, Cory begins to whimper against my chest. He says he's afraid of birds.  
  
We keep walking for a few more minutes, just to see if there are any people before we turn around.  
  
Our little troupe walks two more blocks up the street and there are definitely more 'people'.  
  
If the walking dead are what you'd call people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I am so excited to get Addy's story out here! I really love her and her history and I absolutely can not wait to keep writing! Just want to go on and say that there might not end up being a love interest in this story, as Addy is only 17. I have a very hella cool OC that may or may not come into play eventually, and he might end up being a full time love interest. Heck, it might end up as Addy/Tara or Addy/Spencer. I really don't know! There really might not be a main Lover in this story, but that is pretty much okay, right? I mean, Addy is over here fighting for her own life as well as these kids'. So who knows. Anyways, thank you so much for reading, and please please PLEASE comment on how I could make this story even better!


	2. Guts

My breath hitches at the same time as Rick. Our footsteps do not seem to have alerted many of the walkers, but the few that heard us are beginning to drag their crumbling limbs our way.

I follow Rick's lead back down the street, only to encounter more walkers, this time more than the last. We look high and low for uncrowded entrances to buildings, past military tanks and broken down buses. Rick attempts to open the door of a seemingly clear building, but the strap of his bags of guns gets stuck on barbed wire, causing the whole thing to fall and spill out over the street.

"Leave it!" Though I am trying to keep my voice under a whisper, it comes out louder, and with more urgency than intended.

Rick makes a move towards a convenience store, only to see walkers pressing their rotting faces against the windows. "Oh shit."

Cory's whimpers enter my ears as his hands begin to shake uncontrollably. I can see tears welling up in his eyes.

Marnie looks up at me, hoping I know what to do. A wave of guilt comes over me as I realize that I don't. Fumbling in my backpack, I search for the separate bag of steak knives and pocket knives and hand one to the younger girl. "You use this, okay?"

"I-I--" She's at a loss for words, so young and unused to this level of responsibility and pressure. Her head begins to shake rapidly, "No, no, no, no, no, I can't, Addy." I fear that she'll have a panic attack in the middle of the street.

"You have to," I say, gripping her shoulders and moving her in between Rick and I, "you have to protect yourself."

Tears start to run down her face, but she holds herself stoically. Marnie nods. Rick begins to lead us down an alley, "Stay here, okay? I have to get those guns."

"Oh, no you don't!" I say, stepping forward, grabbing his arm. "You can't just leave us here."

"I'll be right, back," his hands meet my shoulders, lightly shaking them in confirmation, "I promise." My lips part to object, but he runs off before I can get in another word.

From our vantage point, we can not see Rick, though I can hear his dangerous gunshots.

"Is he going to come back?" Cory asks from his place at my hip.

An unknown and timid voice comes from behind us. "Um, probably not."

I whip around and there's an Asian kid, my age, maybe just older, standing behind us. One hand is up in surrender while the other is just letting go of the ladder on the side of the building. Though he does not seem to be a threat, my gun is ready by my side.

"Is that guy over there yours?" I nod. "He's in trouble." I nod once more, thank you Captain Obvious. "Yeah, he's in the tank."

"Ok... do you have a way to get him out?" I ask, ready to shoot, but ready put the gun away as well.

"Uhm, well, I can try, um... I'm Glenn." His hesitation makes him seem harmless. It might be a tactic to draw us to our death-- but he reminds me of myself, scared and dumb.

"Cory and Marnie. Addy." I list off, motioning to each of us as I go along.

He lifts up a walkie-talkie. "Cool." He presses a button, turning it on, and begins to talk, "Hey, you. Dumbass. Yeah, you in the tank." He pauses between each phrase, probably hoping that Rick will pick up. "Are you cozy in there?"

A pause, static.

"Hey, are you alive in there?" Glenn asks, and I'm beginning to worry that Rick might not be safe in the tank after all.

"Hello. Hello!" Rick's urgent voice comes in over the radio, scared.

There's an all around exhale of relieved breath. "Good. You had us wondering."

"Where are you? Outside? Can you see a woman and two kids? Can you see me?" Rick's voice rises.

"Yeah and yeah. They're okay, and I can see you." I nod at Glenn, thanking him. "You're surrounded by walkers, that's the bad news."

Rick sounds somewhat optimistic. "There's good news?"

"No." Glenn deadpans.

"Hey, look, whoever you are, I don't mind telling you I'm a little concerned in here." Rick says, his voice scratchy from the static.

"Oh man-- you should see it from over here." Glenn walks up the alley, motioning for the three of us to stay back. "You'd be having a major freak-out."

Picking up the radio, Glenn listens, then speaks, looking my way somewhat apologetically. I can't hear the conversation. It sounds mostly like Glenn is giving directions to Rick. Marnie tugs on my arm. "What's going on?" I just shake my head, unknowing.

Glenn runs over to us, "He's going to make a run for it, and so will we, once he gets here. Go on and start up the ladder, go all the way up, and then wait for us."

I can't here anything but growling and commotion and gunshots, the usual, but, with Cory first, then Marnie, I begin climbing the ladder. My pace is fast enough to keep the kids moving, but slow enough that I can still see and hear Glenn meeting Rick at the entry of the alleyway.

"Whoa, not dead!" I can hear Glenn yell. "Come on, come on!"

Rick continues shooting off rounds, with Glenn yelling at him. The two men jump onto the ladder just as we get off at the landing. My hands are numb up, and I turn to the kids, who rub their hands while mesmerized by the hoards of walkers beneath out feet. I begin nudging Cory and Marnie up the second ladder behind us, this stretch equating three of the previous.

Out of breath, chest heaving, Glenn speaks, though their words are distant, "Nice moves there, Clint Eastwood. You the new sheriff, come riding in to clean up the town?"

"It wasn't my intention." Rick says to Glenn.

"Yeah, whatever. Yeehaw. You're still a dumbass."

Marnie starts complaining about her aching hands, Cory begins whimpering at the prospect of being that high up, but we are already halfway there. Plus, with walkers below us, there is no point in turning back.

"Rick. Thanks."

"Glenn. You're welcome."

There is some shuffling around, and I feel a grip on the ladder below me. Glenn speaks, his words muffled, "On the bright side: it'll be the fall that kills us. I'm a glass-half-full kind of guy."

After waiting at the top, we all walk through one level of a building. Marnie, as per usual, scans the room for supplies, but there is nothing but char and wood planks.

Rick and Glenn start talking while running, their pace ever quickening. I begin to jog, with the kids in front of me.

We stop at an entrance, letting Glenn go down first to lead the way. I take his pack from him as he begins to descend. "Glenn, at the tank, why did you stick your neck out for him? For us?"

"Call it foolish, naive hope that if I'm ever that far up shit creek, somebody might do the same for me." He looks up between Rick and myself. "Guess I'm an even bigger dumbass than you, sheriff."

After Glenn goes Cory, then Marnie, then myself, then Rick, who closes the hatch as we descend into the darkness. It's not a far climb down, and Glenn jumps off quickly, waiting for Cory's little body to step down, then proceeds ahead.

We go through about three different buildings, up and down stairs, and Glenn takes out the walkie, explaining to his friends that he has brought along guests.

We are at the bottom of a staircase and a few walking corpses begin coming our way. None of our weapons are out, but before I can reach for my gun, a door bursts open, from it are two people clad in black riot gear. They go to town on the walkers, giving our group time to sprint across the courtyard and through the open door.

The people in gear follow suit and slam the door shut behind them. Rick is immediately pushed up against a filing cabinet, a woman is standing there with the gun in his face. Though her left hand is pressing Rick in place, I can tell through her anger that she would love to just shoot the both of us.

Another member of her group comes behind her, calls her Andrea, and convinces her to back off. Cory's eyes widen beside me as she refuses to move.

"Andrea." repeats another woman.

The blonde woman, Andrea, backs away from Rick. Sweat or tears, or maybe both, are running down her face. "We're dead-- all of us... because of you people."

A bearded man with curly hair and a Hispanic accent pulls Rick away from us, trying to explain that we have ruined their run.

Marnie has backed herself into a corner behind Glenn and I. A black woman, maybe in her 40s, looks down to her. "Come on, honey."

Marnie's pale eyes flit between the two of us. I nod, hoping that Marnie knows to somewhat trust these people. She stands and goes to find Cory, running ahead behind the Hispanic man and Rick.

I take the tail-end of the group by Glenn, though his hands are flailing with panic. After a room or so, we come to the entrance of a clothing store. Outside the store's doors are more walkers gathered together than I have ever seen. Together, they all bang against the glass windows, causing cracks and breaks all along the doors.

"Oh God." Andrea exclaims, corralling us towards the back of the store.

"The hell were you trying to do out there anyway?" A group member, a large black man, asks.

"Supplies," I say, running fingers through my matted hair, "help, people. Not unlike you guys, I bet."

"Hey, T-Dog, try that C.B. Can you contact the others?" The Hispanic man motions to the man, T-Dog.

"You have others? That refugee center?" I ask, brows raised, looking towards Rick, who's interest have been piqued as well.

The black woman shakes her head, "Yeah, the refugee center. They've got biscuits waiting at the oven for us." I frown at her sarcasm.

T-Dog fiddles with the radio as he speaks. "Got no signal. Maybe the roof."

"More climbing?" Cory asks, and his sister only shoots him a look of exasperation. I would offer to hold him, but I am just as tired as the little boy.

Guns begins firing above us. Cory's eyes go from dropping to doe in an instant.

"Oh no. Is that Dixon?" asks Andrea, beginning to retreat to the roof.

Glenn stares at the roof for a moment before motioning us to follow. "Oh no, come on let's go!" Rick follows me and the children through mannequins and the staircase, which is much less demanding than the ladder.

The Hispanic man, Morales?, reaches the top first, shoving the door out of the way, "Hey, Dixon, are you crazy?!"

The man, Dixon, only laughs, continuing to shoot off rounds. Standing on the ledge of the roof, his erratic movements might end up throwing him off of the edge. So far it seems that that might be the best outcome.

"You'll end up getting us all killed!" I exclaim, and the man, a pale-skinned biker, whips around at the sound of an unknown voice.

His rifle is pointed my way as he speaks, "Hey! Y'all be more polite to a man with a gun! Huh?" he jumps off of his perch. "Only common sense." My chest caves.

T-Dog hurls himself in front of Dixon, "Man, you wasting bullets we ain't even got! And you're bringing even more of them down on out ass! Man, just chill."

In light of the impending argument, I only move the kids and myself to walking ramp set over the pipes.

Dixon, who the Hispanic man refers to as Merle, has not spoken more than thirty words to the group before tossing out slurs. He is already the epitome of a racist redneck before he even begins to beat up T-Dog. There are gasps from the children and cries from Glenn's group, but everything is silent when Merle draws his hand gun and stations it above T-Dog's mouth.

"We gon' talk about who's in charge, now." The man says, standing up, gun waving about. "I vote me. Anybody else? Huh? Democracy time, y'all. Show of hands, huh? All in favor, huh?"

The group members gather around the fallen T-Dog, all raising their hands in surrender. Merle explains that he is the boss now, only to be hit over the head with his own rifle in an ironic twist. It is a motion carried out by Rick, and as Merle is handcuffed by the former sheriff's deputy, I can't but sigh in relief at how his training and instincts are continuing to flourish and kick in, even though the world has ended.

When Merle asks, or more demands to know, who Rick is, the deputy only replies with, "Officer Friendly." Rick loads his gun, yelling in the face of the Redneck. Rick's emotions and mannerisms change as he lifts the gun to Merle's head. For a millisecond, I think that he is going to do it.

My jaw goes slack. I did not think that this man that, with out a second thought, agreed to help Morgan's family and my own in the ways that he did could casually shoot--

He doesn't shoot, but Merle sure deserves it. Rick flicks the man in the nose and throws something of Merle's in the crowd of walkers below the building. Rick just walks away from the scene, Merle yelling profanity and insults profusely.

As the argument fizzles out, Rick walks the ledge of the roof that overlooks the street below. There are few discussions going on, other than how the signal on the radio is weak 'like Dixon's brain'.

"Where are the people you're trying to contact?" I ask as I sit down on ramp.

Andrea says they're out of the city at a camp, but there is no one close enough to come save our asses now. I nod and dig out water for the kids. They welcome the liquid, bored and tired of walking and running and listening to adults talk.

Someone poses the possibility of leaving the building through the sewers, and Glenn runs out to find manhole covers. There are not any that are easily accessible, so the majority of the group goes down to the basement to find the underground tunnels, leaving T-Dog to the radio and me to the kids.

I move to the ledge of the roof to assess the situation below, but the amount of corpses littering the city streets hits something inside. It's like my body was ready to throw up but could not find anything; I'm left dry heaving over the edge of the roof.

"Yo, girl, you aight?" Most of T-Dog's attention is poised between the not working radio and the racist redneck cuffed to a pipe, but when I look for the voice, he is looking right back at me, waiting for an answer.

I shake my head nonchalantly, hoping to think about something other than the corpses below us. "You've had your group for awhile?"

"Yeah, 'bout a month. We all met on the highway goin' outta Atlanta. Everythin' was backed up and once they bombed the streets, we had to get out." The man speaks, though still continues to mess around with the C.B. radio.

I sigh, shakily, as my chest still heaves. "That was the last thing I saw on the news. People shot in the streets and the bombs gettin' dropped. I knew that it had happened plenty elsewhere, but something told me it could never happen to us. That it wouldn't happen to us." I shrug, sliding down the wall next to the man.

His shoulders rise and fall, as well. "It's a different type of world, now."

I sip from my bottle. T-Dog returns to the semi-operative C.B. His words are met with the crass replies of Merle Dixon. I've never seen a man roll his eyes so far back into his head. I almost laugh.

"Are we gonna leave soon?" The quiet, gravelly whisper leaves Cory's mouth as he comes to sit beside me. I shake my head as Marnie looks up from her book. The words calm her in such a heated time, and I respect it. I smile, half-heartedly. She returns the same.

Merle and T-Dog argue over the hacksaw, the redneck swearing that he needs to be let out of the cuffs. The banter contains outright racist tones and language that makes me cringe. It lasts for ten or so minutes, until Rick and the others come back up from the sewers, thank God.

They survey the streets below, looking to find someway out and around the walkers below.

Rick queries, "They're drawn by sound right?"

"If we could get to a car, we could drive them away." I say from the ground.

"Maybe... other than that?" Rick says, asking the group. Morales explains that they can hear you and smell you. That they smell dead, and that we don't. An invisible lightbulb pings in Rick's brain, and he beckons us to follow him down the stairs to the department store below.

In the store, the deputy rounds up rubber gloves and coats; he takes the riot gear away from T-Dog and Morales. The group begs him to rethink himself, as I connect the pieces, and hope that Marnie and Cory don't.

"You're not invincible just because you try really hard, Rick!" I sigh, exasperated, and lead the children out of the room. I almost feel bad for them, as I mutter my annoyances, my hell-fucking-nos.

* * *

From the rooftop, the remainder of us hunt for Glenn and Rick in the crowd below. Smeared with walker gets, they don't look out of place until I see Glenn in bright blue, rubber gloves, wincing at the dead around him. In the air above and behind me, I hear a quick roll of thunder, and my heart sinks.

Under my breath, I can't help but whisper out. "Motherfucker."

The fleeting bout of rain does nothing but soak the streets and wash away the blood and guts. I can hear Rick and Glenn below us, grunting and yelling and fighting. They're almost to safety-- my heart clenches as they hurl themselves over the fence-- but I huff a breath of relief when they run away from the herd. They've even climbed in a truck and headed out.

Away from us.

"Holy shit."

"Are they seriously leaving us?"

"Oh my god, they are!"

My heart hurts and my hands reach for the kids. They shake, with anger, fear-- Just when my emotions begin to seep out, the walkie-talkie pings with static, and Glenn's words calm us all. Get everything. Go downstairs. We're coming.

Marnie takes our bags as I fold a whimpering Cory into my chest. We follow Andrea and Jacqui down the stairwell, skipping ledges and stopping our way down into the store. Our group passes the cracking glass and hoard of walkers at the front gate. Through offices and side doors, we find ourselves at a loading dock.

The violent car alarm is Andrea's signal to open the gate. Along with the help of Jacqui, Morales, and T-Dog, we quickly flee the overrun building. The groans grow in our ears as we calm ourselves down in the back of the van.

I reach over to a shaking Cory. "We're safe, kid." He nods, and almost tries to smile, but I can tell we've exhausted him beyond compare. Marnie pulls him into her lap. She strokes his chestnut hair, lulling him into serenity.

I look around at our group. I know there is someone missing. I remember, relieved for a moment. Then I'm horrified. I look to T-Dog.

His head hangs, jaw dropped. His words are slow. "I dropped the damn key."

A pin could drop in the somewhat melancholy silence. Save that damn alarm. Andrea speaks up.

"Where is Glenn?"

Rick cracks a smile. He points his thumb to the red and ringing dot on the stretch of highway behind us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Ok, I can't believe this took so long to update! Real life gets in the way, but I'm hoping to get this show on the road! Chapters might get a little bit shorter, depending on the points of views. As always, please feel free to leave kudos, bookmark, etc.! Constructive criticism is always welcomed.


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